


Road Crosses

by Orlha



Series: The Indestructible Holmes siblings [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: After Reichenbach, Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, One Shot, Sherlock doing dumb things, Sherlock's sister is a master disguise, Undercover Sherlock, brief mentions of 007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 12:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12682362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orlha/pseuds/Orlha
Summary: Sherlock goes undercover after Reichenbach and Lucy decides that she'll shadow him in order to protect her brother.(007 tags along and Sherlock doesn't know better)





	Road Crosses

**Bogota, Colombia**

“Sherlock! Wake up!” Sherlock’s head rolled limply in her head. “Come on!” She reached over and slapped him hard. Lucy was risking everything to pull him out of Colombia and that didn’t even begin and end with her cover. Everything would be futile he wasn’t alive. The man groaned, the large red handprint on his face would leave a bruise but it had broken him out of the shock that he was going into. Lucy slipped back into her cover as he became more conscious.

“Who are you?” He half moaned.

“Sstay down you idiot!” She put on a lisp accent, pushing him down to the seat. Still focusing on the bumpy road ahead, she shot him a concerned look when he did not press his questions on. “Cwot would be very disspleassed with me if I let anything happen to you.”

The van behind had been following them for the last 5 minutes. Lucy swore vehemently, muttering a hang on to the semi-conscious Sherlock, swerving the four wheel drive down an alley. A perfect tight swerve into an alley that could barely fit, she didn’t think there were going to be any drivers as good as her. She swerved down another lane, twisting and turning to throw their pursuers away. The car was going into a ditch somewhere tomorrow.

Pity.

She liked it very much. Free from the pursuers momentarily, she fumbled the dashboard and threw Sherlock a bottle of beer. He raised an eyebrow at her. There wasn’t time to explain. She spun the car into another alley, this time with another car waiting. Flinging Sherlock’s door open, she helped him into the other car and slid into it. Her hand reached to the backseats while still driving down the roads, this time in a less hectic pace.

“Put it on. Dissguisse and pouw the beew on youwsself.” Lucy didn’t need to explain further. Wherever they were going, there was no way Sherlock was going to be able to walk straight. It was less apparent and far less obtrusive pretending to be drunk and reeking of liquor. The hastily bound bandage had down a good job in slowing the blood flow to an ooze, she observed with another side-glance. He was far too quiet in this situation, had he seen through her disguise? She had eluded him even at point black in London before, there was no reason for her ability to disguise to slip up.

Sherlock groaned as he shrugged the clothes off. He was somewhat unhappy that Mycroft had sent someone to shadow him and apparently haul his ass out of there yet in the back of his head, he was very relieved. He didn’t remember how the man had done it but it was clear that he was no slouch. His mind was blanking out, unable to deduce the man that was driving. He did however agree that the man was a very good driver and had clearly a contingency plan.  He stifled another moan of pain as the man pulled him out of the car to their apparent destination. Sloshing the beer over his shoulders, he beamed widely as he could, leaning heavily onto the man to guide him to where they were going. A building with four stories and clearly no lift. “Please tell me we’re not going to the four floor,” he muttered. He didn’t think he was going to be able to climb all the way up and his rescuer didn’t have the physique to carry him up.

“No. Jusst the ssecond,” the man lisped. His lisp was terrible, how did was he even a shadow? A man with such terrible lisp would stand out like finger. Sherlock shook his head, focusing his thoughts on deducing the man in order to dull the burning pain in his abdomen. Small sized, local accent with lisp. One more flight of stairs. Blond hair, blue eyes. The man probably wasn’t in this line because of his ability to blend in. His physique indicated flexibility rather than strength.

A man was waiting for them when they reached the second landing. Sherlock had assumed his mind was blanking out due to his inability to deduce the man, but it wasn’t. The man that was waiting for them, a doctor, was perfectly deduced. He turned back to his rescuer.

“Who are you?”

The man only smiled and nodded to the doctor. “Ssafe hewe. Leave you in hiss handss.” The latter was directed more to the doctor than him.

Sherlock watch the man turn to leave and after a moment, he asked the doctor. “Who is he?”

“No one. None of us know his or her real name.”

“Her?”

The doctor nodded, his attention focused on stitching Sherlock’s wound. “He dressed very convincingly as a female. If it weren’t for his adam’s apple, I might have assumed it was a girl dressed as a man.” Sherlock nodded and with the strenuous week’s events he found himself extremely tired. “Sleep. I’ll wake you.” And though his mind rejected the thought of sleeping in an unfamiliar and uncertain whether it was secure place, his body drifted off.

**It’s been done. 35 Catherine C Road. 16-23-42-01-32 – Senka**

**Will you be following him? – MH**

**If not me then who? Someone needs to keep him out of trouble. – Senka**

**Says the one who gets into trouble all the time – MH**

**:( Meanie. See you soon. XOXO – Senka**

**Stay safe – MH**

Mycroft sighed and pinched his nose bridge. His sister and brother were going to be the death of him. Sherlock had no idea what she had risked for him but he couldn’t know that Lucy was shadowing him. Though he knew she was good at her job, he still couldn’t help but worry. This was the most dangerous thing that he had ever let her interfere and it was not his choice. If Sherlock slipped up or if her cover was blown, he would be losing the one if not both of his most important people. The thought festered like a dark pit in his stomach and there was nothing the almighty Mycroft could do except hold his breath.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Kaunas, Lithuania**

She snuck along the rooftops. Sherlock didn’t know she was shadowing him, watching his back as he limped across the bitumen. He was injured but not fatally. She would not risk exposure to assist him when he was perfectly able to do so.

A pursuer.

Her dagger left her hands, burying deep into the man’s neck even before Sherlock saw him. The pursuers would know someone is watching for him now. But she would leave it for another day. At least Sherlock was as home free as he could be.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Karagandy, Kazakhstan**

Blasted Sherlock. She swore. He had to fall terribly sick. She slipped into the room, carrying a small haversack. This time, she hadn’t bothered to disguise herself. He was sick and a familiar face would help him feel better. She placed the cool towel on his head and set about making a tiny gruel for him to stomach.

“Lucy?” he whispered through his dry cracked lips. She hovered over him, checking him once over. “Lucy is it really you and not some hallucination?” He pulled her close, savouring her natural smell and body heat. “Oh god it’s really you.”

Sherlock wept uncontrollably and she patted him awkwardly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier.”

“I kept dreaming the Moriarty caught you or killed you or he was torturing you somewhere.”  He was blabbering. He had been stuck out by himself all alone for so long and Mycroft could only help him so much.  Sherlock could never bear to ask him about Lucy. The years of their estranged relationship taking toll on him. Did she think he was dead as well? Was she weeping over his grave? Did Mycroft let her know the truth? Was she safe? Those questions plagued him at night. Dreams of Moriarty torturing her, the broken John standing over his grave, Molly watching as he left that night, Mycroft watching him as he walked into the airport. Then he dreamt that one of them had died, that he failed them and they had died. “Why didn’t you contact me earlier? Why?”

“I couldn’t. I can’t.” She wiped his grimy face with a clean towel and pressed him back into the bed. “They were watching you too closely. You’ve no idea what I’m risking to be here.” She laid a hand on his too warm face and kissed him. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Sherlock watched her as she busied about the stove. It had been far too long since he had seen that view. The day she left he had been busy throwing one of his ridiculous tantrums and never got to say good bye. She came back several times in-between her missions but it was never quite the same. It felt like she had been torn from his side. He watched her until his eyes drooped heavy from exhaustion and sleep overtook him.

It was evening when he woke up again. It was all a fever dream. A dream that is his sister was alive and well who came to take care of him. Sherlock laid his hand on his eyes. Taking down Moriarty’s web was far more taxing that imaginable. He wondered once again how his sister had been able to do all of it in the last four years. Had she suffered in silence?

Sherlock pulled himself up, pushing the thoughts of his sister and his irate brother aside. There was a set of clean clothes on the broken side table with an envelope.

_My associate will find you three past dusk. Be ready. Food on the stove. You’ll need it._

It wasn’t signed off, but he knew who it was from. Mycroft favoured large loopy cursives and Lucy favoured tight cursives that were slanted terribly, almost messy yet somehow equally elegant. This was undoubtedly from Lucy. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and stumbled towards the stove. It was rice gruel with chunks of carrots, mushrooms and chicken. He shook his head thinking that perhaps it hadn’t been a fevered dream.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Leipzig, Germany**

“You’re a bloody ass!” Lucy ducked again, feeling the whiz of the bullet fly pass her wig. This time she was in the cover of the same man Sherlock had met earlier just that she chose to change the accent. She wouldn’t fool Sherlock if she tried to take on another role. Her height was far too noticeable for a man as observant as him.

“You’re my sister’s operative, aren’t you?” Sherlock chuckled. The pain was definitely making him weird. He had been lying in a pool of blood when the blond man swerved the van beside him, blocking off the gunfire momentarily and dragged him into the van without much care for the pain shooting through him. They had far more important things than to worry about his pain, far more like getting away. It was the second time the man had came to save him but it was his fourth time seeing the man. The man was good at disguises, Sherlock grudgingly admitted that. “Your accent changed.”

“Yes.” Lucy wasn’t afraid that he’d recognized her. She had placed on well-made silicon mask to hide her true face. Though why he recognized her as her operative and not Mycroft’s was bothering her and so she asked.

Sherlock folded his other hand over his bleeding side. His leg would probably need stitches too, judging by the amount of blood seeping through his hastily made bandage. “Mycroft wouldn’t have sent the same operative to shadow him. He may or may not send a local agent to shadow me instead of risking cover. My sister, on the other hand, probably values your ability to adapt and instead of sending someone that might be half assed, she chose to send someone good.”

Lucy was impressed. Not by his very wrong deduction but the fact he managed to deduce and say all that with a bleeding side, a broken leg and probably a concussion. Well, that was Sherlock alright. He never did things half-assed. She smirked and Sherlock took that as an affirmative.

“How is she?” He asked. Since that envelope, he had not gotten any news. He could have asked Mycroft but his pride wouldn’t let him.

“You could have asked your brother for your sister’s number.”

“I could contact her through the phone?” Sherlock couldn’t dare to hope. Most undercover agents were rarely that easily contactable. Even for him, Mycroft could never contact him. He would wait for Sherlock to contact him in order to tell him news. For two people constantly on the move, working behind the scenes, he had doubted he would be able to contact her. All the running and pretences will whittling him down. Two years ago, he would have been excited for all his adrenaline rush, now he just wanted a day to sit down, have a cup of English tea and not worry for pursuers or giving his cover away.

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Don’t sleep now. You have a concussion.” Lucy reached out and shook him. He wasn’t waking. She hoped it was from exhaustion. Muttering an apology, she dug her finger into his leg wound. The pain jolted him awake. “Stay with me until we reach the hospital.”

“We’re going to the hospital?” He murmured.

“Yes.”

“Why? It’s not safe.”

“You have a grade three concussion. Your right tibia is broken, you probably need ten stitches on your right thigh and you have a gun wound on your side. You need to go to the hospital. There is no underground doctor here that is capable of that.”

She jerked the handbrakes, allowing the car slide into a tight-fitting alley and pulled out a black mobile phone. “Eugenio. Incoming. Three on tails. I’m heading to the hospital.”

Sherlock marvelled at the efficiency of his work. He had previously seen his driving skills but he never knew the full extent of it. Barking commands on the phone, formulating plans and pathways and all while aggressively driving to shake the tails off. He lost track of time between the burning pain running through him and holding back the nausea. There was an almost audible relief when the van finally came to a stop and he was loaded onto a stretcher. The man was rapidly firing in German to the nurses. Just as they wheeled him away, the man pressed a paper into Sherlock’s hand.

A number.

Sherlock hesitated for a long time. Was he putting her at risk by texting her? He gave himself an insufferable sigh and pressed the send button.

**Hello – SH**

It was many hours later when he received a text.

**Good god!  Moving to Melbourne finally. Heard this news from Mattie. You know right? :) - Senka**

It was a code. A simple enough code. Senka was probably her codename.

_"Good to hear from you :) - Senka"_

She knew he’d recognize he and it also told him that the phone she had was easily comprisable. He had to be careful with what he typed. Still, it was better than nothing. Sherlock felt his eyes wet and quickly deduced it must have been all the tension and exhaustion building up that was causing him to be excessively emotional.

**Emoticons are only used by people who do not have sufficient linguistic skills – SH**

**terrible as ever I see. – Senka**

**Author's Note:**

> I apparently wrote this a long time ago and never posted it. I found this while cleaning my drive and figured why not. Also, HEY! This is my 50th story on Ao3. Haha! Anyway, this writing style of mine is old and I wonder why I fell out of it. There are some snippets in my drive of this fandom that has great dialogue. I love this one particularly.
> 
> “She’s sleeping beside a dog.”  
> “Yes. John,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I can see that.”  
> “Since when she had a dog?”  
> “Since yesterday. Animals are good therapy. She did always love dogs.” Mycroft answered from the doorway. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream down the hallways.”  
> “And cats.” Sherlock added, ignoring Mycroft’s jab. “She used to bring home cats.”  
> “There was snuffle-face.” John said, remembering of the brown and white stray she brought back into the apartment. “Then you experimented on it.”
> 
> And this one too!
> 
> John parried her easily, accidentally knocking her into the wall. She slumped against the wall. “Oh god. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Are you okay?” He hurried over. Lucy got up and threw a punch at him which he quickly dodged.  
> “John, she’s still trying to kill you. I don’t think you should go close.”  
> “Yes. Thank you Sherlock. Can see that.”


End file.
